Not Invited to the Wedding Because I’m “Foreign”, I Become “Family” for My Flat

I wasnt invited to the wedding because I was foreign, yet when it came to my flat, I was suddenly treated as family.
My son got married almost ten years ago. His partner, Chloé, had been married before and brought a daughter from that first marriage into our lives. I welcomed both of them as if they were my own kin, opening my heart without reservation. Over the years I tried to help the young couplesometimes with money, sometimes by looking after the children so they could catch a break from daily hassles. My relationship with my daughterinlaw has always been strainedno outright fights, but a cold distance that never seemed to melt.
Chloés first husband paid child support regularly, yet he never wanted to see his daughter, erasing her from his life as if she were a useless page. Last year my granddaughter, whom I considered as my own flesh, got married. Thats when everything fell apart. Neither my son nor I received an invitation. The reason given was that the ceremony was limited to family members, and apparently we didnt qualify. My son, who had raised that girl for almost a decade, who had given his whole being to her, was suddenly excluded. Meanwhile, her biological fatherwho only remembered her to send moneyparaded among the guests as if he owned a right to be there.
The news hit me like a bolt of lightning. I loved that girl, celebrated her achievements, helped her whenever I could, and all I got back was an indifferent stare and a shut door. I saw her as my granddaughter, and she erased me from her life without a second glance. My son remained silent, though I could see the pain gnawing at himhe swallowed the humiliation, buried it deep, but the wound was already made. I felt doubly woundedboth for myself and for himby this injustice that crushed us both.
A year ago I inherited a small studio near Dijon. I decided to rent it out to supplement my modest pensionliving solely on that income is tough, and any extra cash is welcome. Then a call came. Chloés voice, soft and almost tender, sounded unrecognizable. She told me her daughtermy granddaughterwas expecting a child and that the young couple had nowhere to live. She asked me to free my flat so they could move in. I was stunned. At the wedding we were strangers, unwanted, and now, when it comes to housing, I am suddenly close family?
Her words rang like a bitter accusation. I havent answered yet, but inside me screams No! Perhaps I cling to the past, anchoring myself to this grudge, but I cant forgive such a betrayal. My heart aches with memorieswatching her first steps, buying her gifts, feeling she was a part of my soul. And now she and her mother see me only as a resource to be used and discarded when Im no longer needed.
I dont understand how my son, my Luc, endures this humiliation. How can he live with a woman who doesnt acknowledge his efforts, his sacrifices, or his mother? He stays quiet, lowers his eyes, and I watch him slowly dissolve within this marriage. I am faced with a choice: surrender and swallow my pride once more, or finally say enough and preserve a shred of dignity. The flat isnt just walls; its my pillar, my small refuge in old age. Handing it over to those who erased me from their lives when I was no longer useful? No, that exceeds my strength.
I remain torn. Part of me wants to be kind and generous, as a mother and grandmother should be. The other part, weary of pain and deceit, pushes me toward a different path.